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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942457">Don't Just Tell Me (Show Me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth'>Mottlemoth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anniversary, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Ficlet, Jealousy, M/M, Married Couple, Married mystrade, Passion, Resolved Argument, Spontaneous sex, make-up sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:42:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a flirtatious waiter in a restaurant shipwrecks their anniversary meal, Mycroft gives his jealous and upset husband a very physical demonstration of his love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't Just Tell Me (Show Me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>When do I plan to stop writing 'some little punk makes Greg jealous' fics? When somebody stops me, dear reader. And not a moment before.</p><p>I don't allow translations. Give me a shout if you ever find this posted somewhere other than AO3. (I hate adding these notes to my fics, but I've had things stolen way too many times. Thanks for understanding.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The argument is conducted in the hallway, both of them still in their coats and the car keys still held in Gregory's hand. Though fiery, it burns out quickly. Gregory readily admits that Mycroft did nothing to invite the waiter's behaviour, nor did he encourage it. He is however hurt that Mycroft still left a gratuity. Mycroft points out that he would usually leave twenty per cent, perhaps even twenty-five for exceptional service, but on this occasion he supplied the flirtatious young man with only ten. It was the most pointed gesture he was willing to make at an upmarket establishment like Gianni's; he had no wish to cause a scene on their anniversary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reminder of the date serves to soften the sharp edge of his husband's tone. Gregory falters, retreating from his anger somewhat. Within a minute or two, the fullness of the thing emerges: the distressing lack of time they've had together lately; Gregory's great hopes for the evening, spoiled by the constant interruptions of a purring young man half their age, paying lavish attention to Mycroft while barely deigning to cast Gregory a glance; the very public nature of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm your husband," Gregory says at last, looking distraught. "It's our anniversary. And he was acting like I didn't even exist, and I just..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, Mycroft realises they could stand here bickering until dawn and make no progress. The over-familiarity of some enterprising young man isn't actually the issue. Gregory hoped that tonight would be special. Instead, it has made him feel frustrated and unwanted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"You are wanted," </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mycroft could confirm, over and over and over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"You are loved." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he could do something about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft walks the few steps down the hall to his husband, closing the unnecessary gap between them. Without a word, he takes the car keys from Gregory's hand and drops them to one side, not looking to see where they land. As Mycroft pushes him back against the wall, Gregory's expression shows a startled and rather lovely flash of surprise—and then they're kissing, not gently or softly but fiercely, reassuringly, hands driven underneath each other's coats. Gregory clings to Mycroft's back through his shirt, moaning in breathless surprise against Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft cups his husband's jaw, tips his head back and kisses him harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands roam, shaking. Buttons are pulled open. They end up having restless sex there in the hall, each moment simply tumbling into the next, neither willing to pause things long enough to retire upstairs. They haven't torn into each other like this in years, not since their earliest encounters. Sex was how they first came together. For a while, it was the only way they could communicate with any sort of honesty. In the presence of DI Lestrade, those dark brown eyes always lingering a moment too long, Mycroft's words had seemed so unwieldy and so inelegant in his mouth, so utterly unfit for purpose. It was far easier to express himself with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over time, through trial and not infrequent error, the two of them learned how to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's nice to find out that they still remember how to fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don't need a bed; they only need each other's skin. Mycroft presses his Gregory up against the antique mirror beside the door and takes him from behind, biting and sucking at the side of Gregory's neck, rewarded for his efforts by Gregory's heartfelt moans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I belong to you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mycroft promises him with every touch, every kiss. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are my heart and my pride and my consort. I adore you. You never, ever need to worry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gregory snags hold of Mycroft's hand on his chest, relocating it down to his cock with a hopeful groan. He wants pleasure, and he wants his husband to provide it. Mycroft takes care of him, palming Gregory with his spit-slick hand as they rut, fucking his lover—his </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband</span>
  </em>
  <span>—forwards into everything he needs. Gregory shudders with relief, bucking a little, then presses his cheek flat to the cold glass of the mirror. He pants in willing surrender, his expression tight and overwhelmed as he takes what Mycroft gives him. His breath forms brief clouds upon the surface, his eyes closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they used to fuck like this before, Mycroft would usually finish first, then tend to Gregory on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Mycroft holds out. It takes no small amount of effort, but he reins himself in until he feels Gregory twitch and begin to spurt between his fingers, the glass spattered with his release, his ragged moan released at volume into the air. Mycroft comes little more than a moment later, sharing his husband's climax—a feat they've only rarely achieved. He wouldn't have imagined that a restless fuck in the hall could provide the right conditions for it. As he pours himself inside Gregory, he lets his arms draw tight around his husband's torso, panting fit to die against his neck, thrilled by Gregory's shocked and helpless whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, basking in a shared hormonal glow, they end up drinking wine in the kitchen—naked, giggling, cuddling by the counter in the dark. Mycroft murmurs that he's sorry to have let his priorities shift in recent weeks, sorry to have left his husband lonely. Gregory's chest expands with immediate relief. He hugs Mycroft tighter around the waist, kisses his bare shoulder and says he's sorry to have been jealous. He knows that Mycroft would never stray; he knows their love is secure. He hopes the young man at Gianni's learns to keep his hopeful eyes to himself. They finish off the bottle of Chardonnay, leave the glasses in the sink for the morning, and head upstairs to shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In bed at last, gently stroking each other's skin, Gregory gives Mycroft an unforgettable little smile. His eyes are just as bright as they were ten years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice to know you still want me," he says, his voice soft. "Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I mean. Nice to... y'know. Really feel it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Mycroft curls a finger underneath his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Forgive me for letting you forget," he says, kissing his husband's lips. "I promise that I'll show you more often."</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked this one and you're in the mood for more Jealous!Greg, you might like <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990722"><i>Scars and All</i></a>. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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